


Robble Robble

by kuriadalmatia



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Humor, crack!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-31
Updated: 2010-05-31
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:07:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriadalmatia/pseuds/kuriadalmatia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch wondered why he was arguing with an officer whose head was shaped like a hamburger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Robble Robble

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback always welcome.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The Mark Gordon Company, ABC Studios and CBS Paramount Network Television own Criminal Minds. McDonald’s owns their characters (although apparently they gakked them from HR Pufnstuf). Salut! I just took them out to play and I promise put them back when I'm done. I'm not making any profit just trying to get these images out of my head.  
> COMMENTS: Crack!fic. No beta. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> Daylyn made me do it. This started out from my typo of “burger alarm” instead of burglar alarm and this posting: http://kuriadalmatia.livejournal.com/74033.html. For the uninitiated, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/McDonaldland

* * *

*****///*** McDonaldland, USA ***///*****

“We matched the M.O. to six other crimes in three different states,” Hotch explained tightly, wondering why in God’s name he was arguing with an officer whose head was shaped like a hamburger.

Oh right.

Officer Big Mac was the only cop in McDonaldland, a small town that depended on tourists going to the small ‘theme park’ (more like a playground with a merry-go-round, swing set, and those weird little hobby horses on springs). Oh. And gorging on a variety of fast food items, including sundaes and apple pies.

Apparently, if one sang the jingle about the menu items, the order would be Super-Sized.

Hotch sighed.

For the past six days, the UnSub had struck at various times throughout McDonaldland. His target had been children, specifically young boys, and he’d stolen their hamburgers. Not cheeseburgers, McBLTs, or Angus bacon burgers. Hamburgers.

Just yesterday, Mayor McCheese had pleaded his case to JJ to bring in the Team, although why she’d pushed for it still remained mystery.

Maybe she hadn’t had lunch when McCheese had visited Quantico.

Because McCheese was up for re-election and the rash of thefts in McDonaldland had sent his approval ratings down the toilet and cases like this? Well, the BAU tried to stay out of politically-charged cases if they had to.

“You don’t understand our people!” Officer Big Mac sputtered. “You have no right…”

“The UnSub crossed state lines. Therefore, the Bureau doesn’t need you or McCheese’s invitation to work the case. Now, you have three choices: step aside, assist us with the case, or continue to be a roadblock. If you chose the latter, I guarantee you’ll be arrested for impeding a federal investigation.” Hotch pulled his kerchief from his pocket and wiped the suspicious orange spittle the officer had unintentionally sprayed him with. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “Now, what will it be?”

Officer Big Mac hung his head, clearly no match for a pissed off (and hungry) Hotch. “This guy went after Ronnie’s kids,” he said quietly. “Ronnie’s kids!”

Hotch had no idea what that meant, but he knew he would find out soon.

* * *

“What do we have so far?” Hotch asked as he closed the door to the abysmally small office where his team was waiting. The space reeked of stale cooking oil and ketchup but he realized that most of McDonaldland smelled the same.

A map already posted on one wall and pictures of the victims on the evidence board. Reid twirled a red straw in his hands. “Based on the preliminary geographic profile, it seems the UnSub has been tracking towards McDonaldland. He’s kept it along the interstate leading here.”

“Perfecting his craft as he gets closer to his main target,” Rossi mused aloud. “Thing is, there’s not much to this place, now is there?”

“The kids couldn’t really tell us anything,” Morgan added. “All they saw was some guy in a black and white striped outfit with a large brimmed hat. They were pretty scared. I don’t think they’re going to be much help.”

“Okay, Crime Fighters,” Garcia’s voice came through Morgan’s open cell phone. “I did some checking and it seems that your UnSub has been doing this for quite a few decades. Jurisdictional spats kept folks from linking up the various records, but it looks like he’s been at it since 1971. Now, about that little town you’re in. It was founded by R. McDonald Senior, a retired circus clown.”

“Actually, the correct job title is…”

“Reid!” the team shouted in unison.

The youngest team member promptly shut up.

“Anyway, McDonald Senior is Ronnie McDonald’s dad and grandfather to Ronnie’s quadruplets, the McNuggets,” Morgan stated.

“They took their mother’s name?” Rossi asked.

“Junior said he wanted them grow up normal.”

“Normal. In McDonaldland. Is he serious? It’s like they forgot what secondary and tertiary colors were,” Rossi groused.

“For little ‘burg, it’s certainly has had its share of loonies,” Garcia continued. “Captain Crook served five years for poaching from Filet o’Fish Lake and was released in 1976. He’s been in and out of jail ever since for probation violations, but he legally changed his name to ‘The Captain’ in the early Eighties. And look at this! He passed the bar exam in 2005.”

“He’s an admitted pescetarian,” Reid mused aloud, “and all his crimes took place specifically at that lake. Our UnSub, while preferential in what he steals, doesn’t stick to one location.”

“Then there are the Gobblins, gangbangers who served six years for trafficking artocarpus altilis, were released in 1982, and are now dedicated to various children’s charities. Aww, look! They even sing! They formed a musical group, the Fry Kids, and they auditioned for America’s Got Talent just last year.”

Hotch nodded. “It’s safe to say the UnSub has come back home. When we’re done here, Rossi, you and Prentiss interview the…Fry Kids…” he tried his best not to roll his eyes. “They may have had some contact with the UnSub when they were still trafficking.”

“Probably started off with the small stuff,” Morgan said. “A pickle here. Ketchup packet there.”

“I spoke to Grimace,” Prentiss announced as she leaned back in her chair. “He’s not the sharpest crayon in the box. He kept asking me if I wanted fries to go with that shake.”

Hotch glanced over at her. “He sexually harassed you?”

“No, that’s the weird thing,” she admitted. “I don’t think he quite understood that the phrase had a different connotation. Given the words he uses and the phrasing… I don’t think he’s smart enough to pull off these crimes.”

“Grimace was raised by his grandmother Pinky and his uncle Grimacy,” Garcia informed them. “Prentiss is right, though. Subtract a hundred and five points from Reid’s IQ score and that’s where he falls.”

“Hm. An eight-three. General classification would have him as borderline mentally deficient, while Terman would classify him as ‘dullness’,” Reid jumped in. “Wechsler would list him as ‘dull normal’.”

“Anyone else?” Hotch asked.

As if to answer his question, JJ burst into the room, brandishing a TV remote. She pointed it at the flatscreen TV in the corner of the office. “Mayor McCheese is holding a press conference.”

“I hate politics,” Hotch muttered.

* * *

“Hotch! We know where he’s going!” Prentiss announced excited.

Hotch had to hold the phone away from his ear, her voice was so loud.

“The Fry Guys said that there was a parcel of land on the outskirts of town,” she continued. “Back in the 70’s, it’s where all the young kids would play. But it was also next to a foster care home that was shut down in 1974 for child endangerment.”

“What was the specific charge?”

“These people? Starved the kids. Garcia says that both the Captain and the Gobblins stayed there at least five years. Grimace was only there for two years before his grandmother claimed him,” she explained.

“So our UnSub’s obsession with food items is because his foster parents starved him,” Hotch summarized. “Great. What’s the address of where he’s going?”

“No address,” Prentiss replied. “It’s call the Hamburger Patch.”

“You’re serious.”

“Yes, sir. Just follow the signs. McCheese says you can’t miss it.”

“Great.”

* * *

“Robble robble robble.”

Hotch glared at the UnSub seated at the interrogation table. “Speak English,” he snapped.

“Robble robble robble.”

They had captured the UnSub as he had tried to enter the Hamburger Patch carrying sacks of purloined burgers. Since his arrest, the UnSub had repeated the single word.

No one knew what the hell he meant.

It was driving Hotch quickly mad.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the interrogation room door. Before Hotch could answer, the door opened and in strode a man dressed in a crazy pirate’s costume straight out of Peter Pan.

“I am The Captain,” the man announced and doffed his hat as he bowed. “I am Hamburglar’s legal counsel.”

“Hamburglar?” Hotch repeated in disbelief. He then stared at the cherub-faced red-headed man seated at the table. The man perked up when the Captain had entered the room.

“Robble robble robble!”

“Ah,” the Captain nodded. He looked at Hotch. “My client says he is innocent of the assault and theft charges. He was simply going to the Hamburger Patch to have a picnic lunch.”

“He calls himself the Hamburglar!” Hotch retorted.

“Robble robble robble!”

“And unfortunate surname, I agree.”

“Robble robble robble!”

“We have at least four witnesses…”

“Robble robble robble!”

“Young children. Easily confused,” the Captain smiled and sat down next to the UnSub.

“Robble robble robble. Robble robble robble.”

“Enough with the robble-robble!” Hotch shouted.

…and jolted awake.

Reid was staring at him, French fry halfway in his mouth. The younger man’s eyes narrowed. “Hotch?”

Hotch blinked rapidly and looked around.

He was on the jet.

He had a brightly colored cardboard box on his lap.

His team was staring at him like was quite insane.

Perhaps he was.

“Guess that settles the Happy-Meals-on-the-Jet argument,” Rossi said with a half smile. “One that I quite agree with. Jeez, that stuff smells.”

“You ought to see Morgan’s car,” Prentiss exclaimed. “It’s like a shrine to fast food!”

“Hey!”

Reid leaned forward and plucked the offending box from Hotch’s lap. His expression was so earnest when he asked, “Would you like to, ah, talk about it? I dream about leeches.”

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose. “The UnSub was the Hamburglar.”

“Who?” Reid cocked his head sideways and stared at him.

“You’ve never been to McDonaldland?” Morgan asked in disbelief. “Pretty boy, you need to get out more.”

“If it causes Hotch to wake up screaming…”

“I didn’t wake up screaming.”

“…Okay...wake up shouting ‘Robble Robble’ then I definitely don’t want to know.”

Rossi plopped down in the chair next to Hotch. “So tell me. Is Birdie a true blonde?”

“Shut up, Dave. Shut up.”

* * *

 


End file.
